Alex(3)

“Spill it,” I say quietly.

“They want you to be the team spokesman for an anti-drug-abuse campaign.”

“I can do that,” I say cautiously, because I can. I have no problem with supporting worthy causes and even though I’m an asshole, I know how to put a smile on my face when I want to…for the greater good, you know.

“Specifically, they want you to work closely with the Wake County Drug Crisis Center and implement a program to talk to at-risk youth throughout the state.”

“That’s fine,” I say, but the apprehension increases because this is sounding a little too easy.

“They have very specific requirements,” Pretore says firmly.

I just cock an eyebrow at him, urging him to just lay it the fuck out. He’s killing me here.

Taking a piece of paper from a folder on his desk, he hands it over to me. I take it and scan it, noting an itemized list of stuff, but I just look back up at him.

“Essentially, they want you committing at least five hours a week during the season, on non–game days, of course. Off-season, twenty hours a week.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I curse, because I just became the equivalent of a felon who came out on parole.

“That’s not all. They are going to have your liaison report to them weekly on your progress and your attitude. They’ll give him or her a list of criteria you must meet.”

“No fucking way,” I snarl but Pretore ignores me.

“If you don’t agree, I’ve been told that you are to be benched indefinitely and all bonuses forfeit.”

“Do I have to wear an ankle monitor too?” I growl.

“Finally,” he says, his voice even stronger, “at any time they deem you to have made an ass of yourself to the public or to our fans—and the ‘ass’ is their word, not mine—they are going to fine you five thousand dollars per infraction.”

I open my mouth to curse again, but nothing comes out. Coldness washes through me as I realize my employer has just drawn a pretty deep line in the sand. I have two choices—do what they tell me or kiss my career goodbye.

And the fucked-up thing about it—the kissing my career goodbye seems like the better choice for me at this very moment.

***

Walking up the stairs to my apartment, I pull my keys out of my pocket, eager to strip out of my monkey suit and drink a cold beer. When I hit the top step, I stop as I recognize who is standing at my door.

“What are you doing here?” I ask tiredly.

Cassie cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me, pursing her full lips as she smirks at me. “You had a great game tonight—which means you’re probably in the pissiest of moods. I thought I’d come over and help you blow off some steam…‘blow’ being the key word.”

Yeah, Cassie Gates gives the best head and I’m probably not going to turn her down, but it pisses me off that she came over without me asking her to. She’s been my casual hookup for the past year, ever since moving to Raleigh with her sister, Allie, whose husband, Kyle Steppernech, is a defenseman for the Cold Fury.

“You weren’t invited,” I tell her as I insert the key into the lock, not even bothering to look at her.

She merely steps in close and reaches a well-manicured hand down to cup me between the legs. Leaning her chin on my shoulder, she whispers, “Come on, Alex…you know I’ll make you feel good.”

Her hand squeezes me and, along with the sexy purr in her voice, it works like magic and I start to get hard. Cassie’s a fucking knockout with her platinum blond hair, mile-long legs and fantastic tits, so yeah…my body reacts.

Pushing the door open, I walk in, dislodging her hand but knowing she’ll follow me to finish the job. I hear her close the door as I walk into the kitchen. Dropping my bag on the floor, I pull a beer from the fridge and twist the cap, tossing it in the sink. Taking a deep swallow, I watch as she walks into the kitchen, sauntering forward like a woman on a mission.

I know she thinks she has me figured out. That she can worm her way into a relationship with me by giving great blow jobs and even hotter sex, but she’s way off base. No self-respecting woman would get down on her knees for an asshole like me, just to try to trap an asshole like me.

If I had more of a conscience, I might feel guilty about the give-and-take of our situation, but I’ve got no qualms about the part where I take what she is offering. I’ve been straight up, honest with her about how I play, and relationships aren’t part of my makeup. She knows she’s barking up the wrong tree if she’s looking for anything more than Richter-inducing orgasms.

“Don’t come over again unless I invite you,” I tell her after I take another swallow of beer.